Other People's Money eBook

“Here, madame, towards yourself and your children,
I have no doubt; for seeing is believing: but
elsewhere—­”

He was interrupted by the arrival of the locksmith,
who, in less than five minutes, had picked all the
locks of the old desk.

But in vain did the commissary search all the drawers.
He found only those useless papers which are made
relics of by people who have made order their religious
faith,—­uninteresting letters, grocers’
and butchers’ bills running back twenty years.

“It is a waste of time to look for any thing
here,” he growled.

And in fact he was about to give up his perquisitions,
when a bundle thinner than the rest attracted his
attention. He cut the thread that bound it;
and almost at once:

“I knew I was right,” he said. And
holding out a paper to Mme. Favoral:

“Is it for you, madame,” asked the commissary,
“that this magnificent shawl was bought?”

Stupefied with astonishment, the poor woman still
refused to admit the evidence.

“Madame de Thaller spends a great deal,”
she stammered. “My husband often made
important purchases for her account.”

“Often, indeed!” interrupted the commissary
of police; “for here are many other receipted
bills,—­earrings, sixteen thousand francs;
a bracelet, three thousand francs; a parlor set, a
horse, two velvet dresses. Here is a part, at
least, if not the whole, of the ten millions.”

V

Had the commissary received any information in advance?
or was he guided only by the scent peculiar to men
of his profession, and the habit of suspecting every
thing, even that which seems most unlikely?

At any rate he expressed himself in a tone of absolute
certainty.

The agents who had accompanied and assisted him in
his researches were winking at each other, and giggling
stupidly. The situation struck them as rather
pleasant.

The others, M. Desclavettes, M. Chapelain, and the
worthy M. Desormeaux himself, could have racked their
brains in vain to find terms wherein to express the
immensity of their astonishments. Vincent Favoral,
their old friend, paying for cashmeres, diamonds,
and parlor sets! Such an idea could not enter
in their minds. For whom could such princely
gifts be intended? For a mistress, for one of
those redoubtable creatures whom fancy represents crouching
in the depths of love, like monsters at the bottom
of their caves!

But how could any one imagine the methodic cashier
of the Mutual Credit Society carried away by one of
those insane passions which knew no reason?
Ruined by gambling, perhaps, but by a woman!

Could any one picture him, so homely and so plain
here, Rue St. Gilles, at the head of another establishment,
and leading elsewhere in one of the brilliant quarters
of Paris, a reckless life, such as strike terror in
the bosom of quiet families?